The Magical Delights of Zoe Benson
by humidair
Summary: It's 1861.
1. Humid Air, Eerie Butler

_Sixteen years after she was born, her mother shipped her off to Miss. Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. _

_Her mother thrives off her pride and determination; a witch for a daughter doesn't allow that. _

_Zoe watches herself blossom while her mother descends into insanity. Their relationship is strained. The envy reads plainly on her face, Zoe's "genetic affliction" is silently coveted by Nora. _

_She isn't ashamed, not the least bit, loves the feeling of power pulsating through her veins. _

_"__How many times do I have to tell you, this is a curse not a blessing."_

_She can sense the exasperated roll of her mother's eyes, but Zoe is all collected poise. Not a flicker of emotion crosses her face. _

_Before she can sarcastically reply she is ushered out, uttering nothing more than a curt "Goodbye," content with never seeing her mother again. _

_The academy gates screech open in welcome. The grounds are scattered with replicas of thin, porcelain-skinned girls. _

_Zoe's first thought is "Freedom." _

_The air was humid, the butler was eerie. _

_With matted hair and rotten teeth, Spalding is something sinister._

_Butterscotch hair bobs down the staircase. Fiona Goode, Supreme._

_Introductions are short. Zoe isn't one for talking and Fiona isn't one for fraternizing with potential successors. _

_For all of Fiona's exceptional magic, she can't seem to keep herself young. She sounds tired, her skin revealing the effects of time on elasticity. _

_Almost forgotten entirely is her group of three not ten feet behind, arrogantly holding their chins high, surveying Zoe with their eyes. _

_"__Staring doesn't intimidate me," her voice does not waver and her tone is strong. _

_Zoe doesn't want them to like her; it prevents the unnecessary time-consuming fakeness of friendship. _

_She's too cynical, she knows. But it's better than being too naive. _

_"__Our magic will," the Fiona replica snarls. _

_Zoe pretends not to hear, stealthily surveying the foyer with silent footsteps. The short, pilgrim-looking one speaks next. _

_"__I'm Nan," her voice is enthusiastic. It makes Zoe's skin crawl, but she offers a smile rather than a snide comment. _

_The last one, the only one with pigment in her skin and meat on her bones offers little more than an "humph," which Zoe appreciates. _

_Her cheeks turn her eyes into slits as she gives Queenie a genuine smile, something she hasn't done in years. _

_Fiona clears her throat, annoyed by the exchange and the fact that she has been kept away from her cocaine and scotch too long. _

_"__There," with a wave of her hand the doors to Zoe's bedroom open. _

_Everyone transmutes out of the room, only Spalding remains, reaching for her luggage at an agonizingly slow pace. _

_"__I'll get it," the boy with the blonde curls interjects and Spalding recoils his hand. _

_"__Cute," is Zoe's first thought, but he is too eager, his movements too swift, and he's too charming. Zoe doesn't like charm. _

_Zoe paints on her best annoyed face when his hand brushes against hers, a poor attempt at hiding the way the contact made her heart flutter. It's a half-ass attempt and the golden-haired boy knows. _

_"__Kyle," he extends his hand. Zoe raises an eyebrow, contemplates telling him her name is Griselda, but decides against it. _

_"__Your palm is sweaty." It's more of an observation than a statement, and she notices the flush that grows on his cheeks. _

_In one swift movement she grabs her luggage and transmutes to her room. Her palm is sweaty too. _


	2. Magnolia Blossom

_Her room is big enough. It's relatively modern everything is obnoxiously clean. Outside her left window is a dirt path that disappears amongst the dense trees. The forest is the devil's breeding ground, where witchcraft is known to thrive. _

_Zoe views clothes as nothing more than a formality. She thinks nothing of wearing only her undergarments as she climbs through the thickets and she doesn't recoil at the constant thorn pricks. There's something thrilling about the pain—she thinks. _

_When she finds the end of the trail there is a tinge of a disappointment, nothing-sinister lies ahead, just a horse stable. Resting on the wooden fence, she's barefoot in her bloomers and corset. _

_"__Zoe?" she hears from a distance. The voice is obviously male, but she makes no effort to cover herself. Kyle. Her heart flutters, but her opinion of him remains the same, he has no complexity, no depth. _

_He approaches from behind, gaining her attention by placing a magnolia blossom in her hair, "it symbolizes nobility, beauty, and strength." She scoffs at the adjectives, but blushes anyway. _

_"__Is that a line you use on every girl, does it work? How quickly does it get them on their back?" Zoe's biting tone even catches her off guard, and Kyle moves into her line of vision, but she averts his gaze. _

_She changes the subject to the horse wandering around the pen, "you ride?" _

_"__Sure. You?" _

_"__No."_

_Before she even knows what's happening she's hugging onto Kyle as the horse sprints through the trees feeling alive for the first time. _


End file.
